I do not own The Outsiders. All characters from the book are borrowed with much respect to S.E. Hinton

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Greg,

I don't know why you wanna waste your time on me and this doctor thing, but thanks. The last work book you sent helped make sense of a few things even though I still don't get the names of what some things are called. You never make me feel stupid for that. You're like the nicest soc I've ever met. I wish they were all like you.

I know you don't wanna hear it again, but I owe you my life for what you've done for us, especially Ponyboy. You were patient with us when the decisions were hard, and the waiting was even harder. I wish you knew him before. It would be him under your wing instead of me. He was honestly the smartest person I knew, maybe even more than Darry in some ways. I guess he still is, even with the brain damage. I know it bothers him, but he never complains. I wish I could be more like that. I still get so angry when I think about what was stolen from him, but I have to believe there's a bigger purpose for him. Help him find it Greg. Help Darry see it too.

I get scared that I won't make it back home. My brothers need me, and I need to be back with them, but I know I have no control over it. I've seen so much death here it's become normal. You'll look out for them, won't you? If I die they won't understand—especially Pony, and Darry will have his hands full trying to keep him up and running. Look out for them for me? I know I don't gotta ask, it's just that you're such a great friend, and you can reach Darry like I don't think anyone else can. And I know how you feel about him. I've seen the way you look at him. Don't worry I'm not mad. It makes me feel better knowing that you really care, kinda like I don't really have to ask what I'm asking.

Thank you Greg. For everything. Say hi to everyone on the unit for me! I miss you guys!

Sodapop Curtis

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It's late and I'm not the only one that can't seem to sleep. I know that sleeping will now be impossible; Soda's chicken scratch is clawing at my heart even though his words were meant for Greg. I looked over at the good doctor as he sat with his head in his hands. Did my brother know what the war had in store for him? Would it have turned out any different if I'd gone instead of him? It wasn't hard for me to imagine walking through a battlefield with guns and bombs going off in all directions. The last few years of my life hadn't felt any less than that.

I'd wondered what other wheeling and dealing my brother had done without me knowing. But that was just like him. He was the heart and soul of our family—of the whole group of us, really. Forever the mother hen that made sure everyone was looked after, and his absence was a black hole of nothing but emptiness.

Greg's sudden gasp of breath broke my reverie, and the distraught look on his face reminded me that my loss was shared. He looked at me helplessly as he shook his head and shrugged, before burying his face in his hands again to let it all go.

"Hey," I reached over to place a steady hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Greg fought to swallow down his emotions, but he couldn't anymore than I could.

He'd held it in for too long and Sodapop meant that much.

To everyone.

"Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry." I squeezed his shoulder before pulling on it and pulling Greg closer to me.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more." Greg cried into my neck as I nodded and rubbed his back.

"Greg…" I sighed in frustration.

He'd done more for my family than anyone could've, and in the end became part of our tight-knit group. But I understood his guilt. I understood where it came from. It was the guilt that came with the responsibility of caring for something bigger than yourself. It was the guilt of doing the best you could under impossible circumstances, and still having it not be enough.

"You did everything you could. I did everything that I could. Life has its own plan sometimes. You must know that from what you've seen with your job?"

"I just wanted a happy ending for you, Darry. The three of you have endured enough. I wanted more for you guys. You deserve more." Greg choked.

"I appreciate that, Greg but I know well enough not to believe in fairy tales. Not where I come from, anyways."

"That's so depressing!" Greg shook his head while he barked out a sardonic laugh.

"It's life," I shrugged. "We'll get through, though. Might take a lot of time and a lot of tears…" My mind immediately drifted to the little brother that I still had left who was sound asleep in the spare room down the hall.

I let go of Greg and we sat side-by-side in the silence that wrapped the middle of the night like a blanket, and I was comforted by the fact that Greg got it—he understood. It seemed like we were both older than our ages stated; life leading us to learn more than maybe we were ready to.

"Will he be okay?" Greg looked on at me with concern.

"Pony? You're the doctor, Greg; I was hoping you'd tell me." I huffed sadly.

"He's been listless the last three years, Darry. You're here for a mere second and suddenly he's alive again. Just when I thought I'd seen it all…"

"One thing he's taught me, Greg is don't ever underestimate him. He's fragile, but he's also as strong as they come."

"He gets it from you." Greg grinned at me sideways, but I could only shake my head.

"He's never been given a choice. He had that ripped away the night our parents were killed. He's had to fight every day since."

"And now?"

"And now he's gotta learn how to live without the biggest reason he had to keep going." I rubbed my forehead as I felt the truth ache in my head.

"Him and Soda…?"

"You've seen them. It's…I don't know. It's loyalty, love, and devotion. They're two peas in a pod. Where there was one, there'd be the other. It'd been that way since day one."

"What happens now that Soda's gone?"

I'd been asking myself that same question since pulling dad's old Ford up beside the military car that was parked on our driveway. What was supposed to be one of the best days of my life—the day I asked Beth to be my wife, was also one of the worst days of my life.

It was the day I'd lost my brother and best friend.

"I dunno. I just pray I'm gonna be enough for him."

Greg had insisted on taking the couch for the night, leaving Sandy to worry over whether or not Two-Bit could be a gentleman, and stay serious enough for her to share his room that contained two beds—one for Two-Bit, and one that was normally reserved for Pony.

That left Pony and I in the spare room that was once Greg's, and I thought about how much I'd miss the usual home set-up with a bunch of guys crammed into a too-small home. Of course that thought made me yearn for Sodapop even more, but I swallowed it down; hyper-aware of the brother that was curled up in the middle of the bed beside me.

It was dark in the room, despite the bedside lamp I kept on; an old habit now that I decided shouldn't be broken. I was sitting upright against the headboard and I could feel him watching me carefully while I tried to shut my brain off by reading another Agatha Christie mystery. When I glanced down, there was no particular expression on his face, which made me wonder what he was thinking.

"Y'alright, Ponyboy?" I asked in a whisper.

One blink for yes, but then a realization dawned on me.

"Am I keeping you up? Do you want the light off now?"

His eyebrows creased together before a far off look glazed over his features. And then I felt it—the soft drag of his finger along the long scar creeping out from the bottom of my briefs where the blanket wasn't covering me. I watched him in his fascination and horror, and wondered if he'd written me off like everyone else had.

His finger traced along my own physical reminder of what Soda's death had done to me, and I still felt the shame of that night and my hasty decision to take off when I should've fuckin' stayed put.

Pony mouthed something I couldn't understand; his eyebrows still furrowed as his finger pressed more firmly over the almost-translucent white flesh that had grown in place of the matching shade that was once there on my thigh. I absently placed Agatha face down on the bedside table while I shuffled down into the bed and underneath the covers, hiding the rest of my scars from my brother's pondering eyes.

"What'd you say?" I kept my voice a whisper as I brushed the palm of my hand over his cropped hair—another habit I had no intention of breaking.

Pony's mouth moved, but no sound came out. I watched his lips carefully.

"Hurt?" I clarified.

One blink for yes.

"Do you hurt, Pony?"

A frown and frustrated shake of his head.

"Do I? Does my leg hurt?"

One blink for yes.

"I'm okay. You ain't gotta worry 'bout that."

Pony fumed at me, and I didn't need words to know that he didn't like my answer.

"Ya gotta let him in, Darry. Quit shuttin' him out!" Soda's voice rung in my head so clear I wondered if Pony heard it too.

"You're mad. I'm sorry." I apologized for the lie. "Hurts some, but mostly it feels stiff. Kinda feel like an old man." I jibed, and managed to light a spark in my brother's eyes.

His mouth moved again, and I watched closely.

"What happened?"

"Just an accident, Pony. I shoulda been more careful. I'm so sorry."

I could hear the train warn me as I continued to pet Pony's head. I broke from my daze when his lips moved again.

"You died."

"No, baby. But I was in some rough shape." I answered, without understanding the meaning behind Pony's accusation.

The crease between his eyebrows was back, but he didn't look angry this time. He looked wounded.

"They told you I was dead? You thought I was dead?"

It was more a statement than a question for my brother as his face told me everything I'd ever need to know. Still, he humoured me next with a blink.

Yes.

I nodded wordlessly. What was there to say? I could apologize until I was blue in the face, but I'd never be able to take back what I'd put Ponyboy through, as if it wasn't already killing him to have Sodapop ripped away, but he'd thought I had left too.

"Are you still mad at me? It's okay if you are. You won't hurt my feelings."

Pony just shrugged as his eyes welled up, letting me know that like me—he didn't know what to feel.

"Do you wanna come home…with me?" I asked unsure, because the fact that my brother was now nineteen dawned on my guilt addled brain, and maybe he didn't want to be with me anymore.

"I'm broke." His mouth moved as his face tried to mask his distress.

"I'm broken too, baby. I'm broken too."

"Beth?"

I smiled at the mention of her.

"She's home waitin' on us, kiddo."

"Too much. I'm in the way." He started crying.

"I need you. I've gone too long thinkin' I'd never get you back, and I'm broken, Ponyboy. Losin' Soda was enough. I can't lose you…I can't." I took a deep breath to steady my nerves while Pony continued to cry.

"I know you think you're in the way, which is the dumbest thing you've ever said, by the way. But if it makes you feel any better, you can do all the cookin' and maybe polish my tools once in a while."

The snot bubble that popped from his nostril was gross, but made me laugh; especially the way my brother looked so embarrassed as he tried to hide it by covering his nose with his hand.

"Jeeze, kid. You're just gonna get it all over your hand." I lectured lightheartedly as I whipped my T-shirt off, and let my brother use it as a handkerchief—tossing it on the floor carelessly after he was finished.

Pony wiped impatiently at his eyes before settling, and the two of us stared long and hard at each other—both having our own thoughts. I wondered how Pony felt of me then; if he still trusted me to protect him, or if I was just another let-down in a long line of life's disappointments for him. We'd both been conditioned to learn that life would not always be fair to us, but Ponyboy unfortunately had that rule of thumb beaten into him time and again, and he'd carried the scars to prove it.

As if reading my mind, like Sodapop so often was able to, Pony gently held my hand, and brought it up to the side of his head. My fingers lingered over the fibrous tissue that healed over the evidence of what was just a small piece of what he'd been through and survived.

"You're home. Me." His voice garbled like it was being stretched over broken glass, and I hissed and winced as if I could feel the discomfort his trying to speak created.

"Shhhh…don't talk." I worried as I shuffled in the bed to get us into position.

His head found my shoulder as his distorted arm rested across my chest, and it was almost like no time had passed between us except for that one aching loss that we would always feel and share. It was right there in the dim with us as Ponyboy clutched at Sodapop's dog tags that now lived around his neck.

"You're my home too, little buddy."

And that was all that needed to be said.

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